


Isolation Chamber

by counteragent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Always-a-Girl!Sam, F/M, Sibling Incest, female!Sam, girl!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counteragent/pseuds/counteragent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a flick of the light switch, Dean shut the book of their life story and opened another, full of the scenes that didn’t fit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isolation Chamber

The bathroom door opened and shut. Sam was rinsing out the last of her conditioner, eyes closed under the still-hot spray. She was just about to yell at Dean to take his dump in the lobby bathroom—just because he can pick locks doesn’t mean he should—when the lights went out. Instantly Sam’s adrenaline spiked and her eyes flew open. A wasted reflex; the windowless room was as dark as a tomb. Faulty electricity unusually meant “mortal danger” to a Winchester, but Sam’s body rocketed toward arousal before her brain could supply the reason, a conditioned response to sudden darkness in the presence of her brother.

With a flick of the light switch, Dean had shut the book of their life story and opened another, full of the scenes that didn’t fit.

He pushed aside the plastic curtain that hung like a narrow door to the cavelike tiled shower stall. Dean moved slowly. Sam didn’t know if it was to avoid falling or to give her time to call him out, shut the book and shove it back on the shelf. The water was hot on her neck and shoulders as she faced him, little spikes of pressure that turned to rivulets of warmth down her back and legs. She tried and failed to hear his breathing over the white noise of the water. No way to read his mood, no way to sense him at all beyond the smell of his sweat and hair gel. Sam breathed it in as he waited for her.

Sam felt heat growing in her gut, between her legs. This was more real than anything they’d done so far. It was dark like always, but this time they were facing each other, standing, with not even the blur of alcohol or the dubious barriers of blankets and clothing to dilute the experience. It was one thing to have your brother spooned at your back for warmth on a hunt, to hear him breathe “shut your eyes” before you felt his hand drift lower and lower until it brushed over your clit through your underwear. It was one thing to bear down into it until you came as silent as you could, and then to press backward until his dick was grinding against your ass. It was one thing to do it more than once, twice, three times as the months sped by, as Dean’s last year drained away. They never spoke of it before, during or after. It was a thing that could be locked easily away as not-real, or at worst real but not worthy of Winchester conversation.

This was something else.

And then, shockingly, Dean wasn’t waiting. Sam flinched in surprise as his fingers gripped her hips. Sam’s eyes had adjusted enough now to see the vague dark shape of his form compress as he knelt. His hands stayed on her, grounding them both and maintaining an even distance. When he was settled, Dean’s thumbs brushed over the shape of her hipbones as if he were scouting an unmarked location from known landmarks. Sam stayed utterly still; imagined she could hear the painful rush of her blood over the din of water. His hands could go anywhere if she couldn’t meet his eyes. It was terrifying, the permission darkness granted.

Sam still hadn’t touched him when she felt it—the hot softness of Dean’s tongue on her sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her anticipation turned it into a shock, something impossible. Sam’s body flushed with heat then plunged back into icy adrenaline. It wasn’t a kiss, it was nothing that familiar. It was brazen and alien, and Sam’s mind filled with a roaring blankness.Dean’s tongue swiped up to the crease of her thigh, then up further to the soft skin of her belly.  
The water ran over her back, alternately forgotten and freshly remembered as sensations surged through her. There was no contact from Dean beyond his persistent tongue and careful hands. All other sense cues were distorted and degraded by the darkness and the water. Sam felt both arrested and displaced, her body alight with touch but cut off from normal sensation. The situation was a bent mirror of reality, beautiful and warped.

Dean shifted his grip to pull her closer, and finally his lips met her skin right beneath her belly button. He skipped right past the point of pressure that accompanies something polite like “kiss”, mouthing his way down toward her cunt. His chin, lips and nose pressed against her, and she felt his hot breath through the curls of her hair.

Suddenly, Sam was gripping his head, completing the circuit between them with a low groan. As if a spell had been broken, Dean stood up, his head grazing her chin. His mouth found hers unerringly, and Sam figured she could have done the same. They spend so much time so close, their lives depended on knowing the space between them.

The kiss was deep at once; Dean’s tongue seeking hers, his hands guiding them together. Dean tasted like the chalky water of cheap motels everywhere. The inside of his mouth was hot and saliva-wet, a shifting tactile landscape both intimately familiar and totally strange. It was their first kiss, it was their hundredth—Sam had spent the last year imagining this moment, sometimes touching her own wetness and tasting it off her fingers, imagining her scent on his lips. Released from her strange stasis, Sam gave as good as she got, trading her tongue for his, back and forth. Their lips were washed almost painfully clean by the spray around them. They would split and bleed soon.

Sam’s hands stroked down, tracing the clean lines of Dean’s back, fitting her fingers into the crevasse of his spine and massaging outward. And then she was cupping his ass, feeling the muscles shifting through smooth skin. It was perfect, and Sam slid her fingers into his crease, her hands hungry to explore what her eyes had never seen. Dean moaned, his first sound. He broke the kiss and shifted his hips forward. His stiff dick rode up her stomach, another point of heat on her skin.

Sam reached for it. His dick was heavy in her hand, straight and symmetrical. She was sure it would be beautiful in the light. Dean always was. She slid her grip up and down, careful not to chafe along his shower-clean skin. Dean’s nose touched her forehead, and she felt the heavy breaths she couldn’t hear. Sam felt a momentary swell of power as she contemplated her options.

Dean upped the ante first; he shifted his hips away and brought his hands around to cup her breasts. His hands turned tender. The steady heat of his palms as he pushed her breasts up to nuzzle between them was an unsettling comfort—a soothing touch misplaced from post-hunt first aid. Then his thumb was roughly flicking one nipple while his tongue gently lapped the other and Sam gasped at the contrast. Goddamn. If this were a fight, Sam would be losing. She was just about to reach for Dean’s dick again when he reached a hand down to push two fingers into her cunt. She was slick and ready despite the water’s best attempts to wash her clean.

Dean groaned, low and short. He lifted his lips to her face again, then dropped kisses in a trail down her neck. She fought a shudder at the near-ticklish feeling, a delicate counterpoint to the slow blunt thrusts of his fingers inside her. His face met her breasts again, he rubbed his cheek against their curves like an animal marking territory. It would have been funny if anything about this was funny. He slipped his fingers out of her despite her quiet sound of disappointment and traced them across her thigh to once again steady her hip. Slowly, deliberately, Sam backed up until her shoulders pressed against the cool tile in the corner of the shower. She lifted her leg, seeking with her toes to find the tiled ledge to her left. It was knee height, sturdy, part of the wall. Dean followed her, brushing her rearranged form with his fingertips, making sure. She placed her hand on his shoulder, bracing herself.

There was a breathless moment, when the water cooled a degree or two and Sam thought, this is where we stop. This is the cliff edge and we can see it, even in the darkness. This is where we crash to earth, because we are too heavy to fly.

And then Dean entered her—her other hand dropped down to guide him—and Sam’s world narrowed to a single point. He met with the tightness of a year of abstinence. He grunted and pushed inside in three short thrusts, dragging despite her wetness. It was hard enough going to generate sparks of pain along with a flood of pleasure. Hard enough to remind her that the camouflage of a dark motel bathroom was thin cover indeed.

Dean shifted, changing the angle, and Sam forgot to think anything at all. Her nails dug into his shoulder as he bottomed out. He snugged them together and held her there, stilling for a moment to lift a hand to the curtain of her hair.

"Imma need you to come for me, Sammy."

Sam’s response was simply to nip at his neck, his earlobe, and hook her lifted leg around the small of his back. Her shoulders were wedged in the corner, and his hands steadied her ass and back as she shifted more of her weight off her standing leg. Dean started to move, hips rocking his dick in and out in a steady rhythm. His mouth was on hers, kissing hard, then sliding restlessly to her neck and then back again as he tried to take her all in at once. The grip of his hands was almost painfully tight; one false move would tumble them like a house of cards.

Her clit was bumping his stomach on every stroke, and Dean was deep inside her, finding that spot she usually needed a vibrator to reach. Sam groaned as her nerve endings lit up and her cognition began to shut down. He was driving her through the clammy walls of this nowhere motel and it was so dark and so good that Sam was certain she knew now how Jake felt opening Hell’s gate. She groaned and clutched at his back, his ass, digging her nails in like the traction might slow her descent.

“That’s good, Sam. Real good.” Dean’s voice was trashed with desire, but incongruously her mind showed her his brightest smile. Then he thumbed both her nipples and it was only DeanDeanDeanDean. She came with a shout, orgasm pulsing through her and stealing her breath. The heavy steam-filled air soaked her lungs, and a stain of irrational panic (I’m drowning) twisted like an oil spill through the waves of pleasure.

Dean rocked her through the aftershocks, then stopped abruptly, his cock still hard and heavy inside her. He was breathing raggedly, nearly shuddering as he brought himself under control. She wanted to hold him up as much as she wanted to push him away.

“I have to…” Dean started, and pulled out with a gentle kiss. He stayed close for a moment, and he must have been holding his cock against his own stomach because the only point of contact was the tip of his nose against hers. She knew he was waiting, but Sam couldn’t bring herself to sanction the moment with words. Things people said in moments like this tended to stick forever. If she couldn’t save him, well. She’d follow him down of course. But if she didn’t find him right away Sam didn’t want to leave him with the wrong words, stuck on repeat in Hell. She slid her fingers along his jaw as he started to turn, and hoped it was blessing enough.

Sam stayed in the shower. The water, now cold, fell on her shoulders like rain. The bathroom door opened and shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to keerawa for the beta. (I made many last minute changes; any remaining mistakes are of course mine.)  
> Written for salt_burn_porn for the prompt “open and shut”


End file.
